


Someone to Stay

by plasticdaisy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, Rain, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticdaisy/pseuds/plasticdaisy
Summary: Karkat calls Dave from work because he forgot his wallet - but, after his boyfriend skates in the rain to bring it to him, there's something he has to come clean about.





	Someone to Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“What’s up, babe?”

I’m quick to pick up the phone as soon as I see Karkat’s name – it’s unusual for him to call me out of the blue, especially seeing that he’s at work. Glancing at the clock, I sit up on the couch, reaching and muting the re-run of _The Simpsons_ I had somehow gotten a little too invested in. My feet are asleep as they touch the ground, and I hiss a little as they adjust to their new position.

“… I forgot my wallet,” I can barely hear his voice over the sound of clattering machinery and conversing patrons, “can you bring it.”

The way he speaks is missing the lilt of a question; something’s up, but I don’t want to pry – not while he’s working.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” I stand up, smoothing out my shirt, “where is it?”

“My backpack. Bring the whole thing.”

“Okay,” I glance around the room as he speaks.

“Thanks.”

He hangs up, and the sudden cut from the white-static to nothing makes me jump. I slip my phone into my pocket, continuing to eye the room for his backpack – the rush of the moment makes it harder for me to focus, but I eventually spot it leaning against the hearth.

I can distinguish our backpacks not only because of how his is adorned, but also because of its size. It always looks packed to the seams, which makes it easy to find, and the massive number of keychains dangling off of the zippers makes it easy to identify. It doesn’t blend into most rooms, unlike my ratty JanSport, which, deflated and stained, melts into the scenery like a well-read book. His backpack, though just as old, appears to be presently usable, whereas mine has an aura of retirement – he tends to put more care into his things.

But I digress. After checking it’s shut, I throw his bag over my shoulder and slip on my worn-out converse, not bothering to tie the laces. My shades fall comfortably onto my face as I throw down my skateboard, kicking off into the fifteen-minute ride to the Starbucks that claims my boyfriend for all-too-many hours a week.

About halfway there, the sky decides it’s a good time to open up and let loose a downpour, a Kool-Aid-Man bursting through the wall level of force on my shoulders and head as I cover my face with an arm.

I stop only once, and it’s under the awning of a seedy convenience store. I use the break to shake off my hair and throw up the hood of my zip-up sweatshirt, which is already thoroughly soaked.

I tighten it, taking a deep breath and kicking off again.

When I arrive, it’s two minutes later than I would have had it stayed sunny, and that pisses me off. I have to work on my speed in the rain. Skidding to a halt, I pick up my skateboard and push open the door to the Starbucks.

The air inside is warm. It hits me like a brick, considering I’m soaking wet. The music inside is soft – I don’t recognize it. I wonder if Karkat picked it. Looking down at my feet, I wonder briefly if I shouldn’t move from the doorway, but I’m forced into action as a woman with an umbrella emerges from the cyclone raging outside, shaking it off so close to me that it hits my already-wet pantlegs. I step out of her way and onto the tile. My sneakers squeak.

I see Karkat, then, but don’t hear his voice – which is kind of odd. Not that he’s necessarily loud all the time, but I can usually distinguish him from a crowd. He’s in a conversation with someone behind the counter – he’s on my side. He’s in the middle of pulling his apron off, and though I can only see his back, he looks tense.

I make my way over, lowering his bag off of my shoulder and tightening the grip I have on my skateboard.

“… Babe?” I murmur, tapping his shoulder.

He turns around, visibly startled. Once he composes himself, I can see the stress thrown across his face – it sits all-too-comfortably, painting his pores and furrowing his brow. He looks tired. He’s wringing his hands together.

He throws his arms around me. I drop his backpack – not willing to face the consequences of my skateboard rolling into some unsuspecting stranger – and wrap my now-free hand around him, drawing him in closer. He buries his face into my chest. I step off to the side, just slightly, to let other people past.

When he pulls away, he’s making a face of slight disgust. _That’s better than before,_ I think.

“Why are you so wet?”

“Some sweet, Grade-A angel bowling, babes. The skies just had to open up from holding back all that funky –”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, raising a hand to me. It means ‘ _stop, you’re rambling’_ , “you skated here in the rain?”

“Well, yeah. You said you needed your wallet. I didn’t want you to, like, need to buy something or get pulled over or –”

He looks down, as I say that. I tilt my head a little; I don’t like it when he moves so I can’t see his face. As I move out of the embrace, I let my arm fall from his back and pick his backpack up off of the tile.

“What’s that face for?” I murmur, shrugging his bag over my shoulder so I can nudge his chin with my fingers. My hands must be cold, because his shivers. I murmur an apology.

“I lied,” he says, suddenly.

“What?”

“I … I have my wallet.”

I feel something seize in my chest. He’s not one to lie – he takes his own word with a sort of seriousness that can be intimidating; especially to someone like me, who is used to hiding behind a wall of habitual stoicism.

“Then why’d you call me?” ask I speak, he tenses, turning his head away, and I can feel my heart in my chest, “Karkat? Hey, look at me.”

He looks up. His eyes dart behind me for a moment – presumably making sure that we aren’t blocking anyone from standing in line.

“… I’m not having a good day,” he explains, after a beat of uncomfortable silence, “I wanted to call and ask you to come get me, but I didn’t want to ask to leave. I don’t know, it feels … wrong to leave when there aren’t enough people here already. But I … I really wanted to see you, so I thought that if I gave you a reason to come here, I could ask you to stay for a while. But I didn’t think it would rain, or that if it did, you’d go through all that trouble – which, fuck, that was stupid of me. Of-fucking-course you would. I’m so fucking sorry.

My manager noticed I wasn’t feeling good and told me to go home, but that was after I called, and I didn’t want to worry you by calling if you were skating, and I wanted to stay and try to work until you got here. I really didn’t know it was going to rain so hard, and fuck, I didn’t mean to, like, burden you with –”

“Woah, woah.”

I lower my board and his bag onto the ground, adjusting myself to be standing further away from the small line of customers. I reach out, planting my hands onto Karkat’s shoulders. He reacts only slightly – because my hands are still cold.

“Come back down to Earth, ‘kat. Take a deep breath.”

I take one myself. He mirrors me. His is shakier than mine, but mine isn’t without a slight tremble.

“Listen to me, alright?” I continue, lowering my face so he can see past my shades and look me in the eyes, “You aren’t burdening me with this. I just – fuck, babe, I wish you’d told me you weren’t feeling good. I would’ve come to get you. Hell, I would’ve come and sit here until close if you didn’t want to leave. You don’t ever have to … lie to me.”

His brow twitches at the word _lie_.

“You do the same thing,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t.”

“… No, you shouldn’t.”

I pull him into another embrace, burying my face in his hair. There’s another moment of quiet, but I focus on the music to hurdle over it.

“Let’s go home,” I mutter, “I doubt you want your coworkers watching us gay-out.”

Karkat nods against my chest.

He picks up his bag and I grab his board. We walk to our car – which he had taken to work, thankfully. If he had decided to walk today and I had boarded, we’d be in a bit of a pickle.

The rain has started to clear – the parking lot is slick, and the puddles are only interrupted by a light drizzle. We climb into the car. He starts it but doesn’t move.

Karkat buries his face into his hands, groaning.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles from behind his fingers.

“It’s okay,” I push down my hood, smoothing out my hair, “you said it yourself: I do the same thing.”

I feel a twinge of guilt at that – I do it much more than he does. I can’t help it; I conditioned myself into it, and it’s something that’s hard to let go of. I want to protect him from myself, and I know that he sometimes feels the same way.

“Neither of us should do it, though,” his voice is strained as he looks over at me, his hands falling into his lap.

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. I hurdle over it with a sharp breath.

“Let’s make a promise,” he announces, “to always tell the _whole_ truth. Because it always hurts us more to lie than it protects us.”

“Damn straight,” I reply, reaching over and taking his hand.

He makes a face.

“You’re all _prune-y_.”

I wiggle my eyebrows at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t even want to know what you meant by that.”

I snort, squeezing his hand.

He sticks out his tongue, pulling away his hand and hooking his fingers around the wheel, “Ew.”

The laugh I let out this time is a little louder, and he glances over at me, a smile threatening to spread across his handsome face – even if there is still stress in his skin, the twitch of the side of his mouth is enough to make my heart soar a little. If anything, I like that I can make him smile when he feels shitty.

Halfway home, it starts to rain again, but it stops by the time we pull into the driveway.

♞

“How are you feeling?” I mutter into Karkat’s hair. He shifts, gripping me tighter and making an indecipherable sound. He’s so warm – especially against my bare skin.

We’re lying in bed – after we got home, I shucked off my clothes while he practically collapsed in our bedroom with the lights still off. I put on a record, slipping into bed with him and beckoning him to cuddle me. At first, it was all ‘you’re fucking cold’ and ‘the fuck are you even at a living temperature, assface’, but he nuzzled into me within seconds.

He’s a fucking furnace, anyway, so it didn’t take long for me to warm up.

“C’mon,” I murmur, pulling away a little, “let me see that handsome face.”

He groans, tilting his head back to look at me. His hair is mussed. I smooth a hand through it, which messes it up more. He looks so charming when we lay together – the moments are so raw and sweet. It feels like the whole world has melted away except for us, basking in each other. He scrunches up his face but leans into the touch.

“You’re cute,” I comment.

“Am not.”

“Am … am.”

“Nice one, idiot,” he rolls his eyes, smiling at me. His eyes are half-lidded; he must’ve been halfway asleep.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I mumble, continuing to pet his hair. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath – like he’s beginning a yawn that he won’t let go.

“Mm,” he hums, “A little better.”

“That’s good. Anything else I can do?”

“This.”

“Well, that’s _easy_ ,” I smile at him, beckoning him to tuck his head back into my neck, “I could do this forever.”

“Me too,” he says into my skin.

I snort, “that tickled.”

“That tickled?” he pulls away again, sliding his hands to my sides to prod at my bare skin, “what about this? Does this tickle?”

“Sh – Fucking stop, oh my god,” my body jerks as I let out a noiseless laugh, “I’m gonna – I’m gonna fall off the bed.”

He stops, offering me a wide smile. It’s so sweet, how he looks at me; like I’m the only person in the world that exists, whenever we’re together. In his warm, brown eyes, an entire universe of love stares back at me, and I don’t know how I deserve it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching up to stroke my cheek, “I just like to hear you laugh.”

“I love you,” I reply, leaning into his touch. I stretch forward, kissing his nose.

“I love you too. Thank you for coming in to get me.”

“Anytime, rain or shine.”

He rolls his eyes.

“You can stop if it fucking rains again, you sap. You’ll catch a fucking cold doing that shit, as sweet as it is.”

“Oh, yeah, you doting on me all day long sounds just _terrible_.”

“Idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot.”

He smiles again – wide, tired, and true. Like the stars align across his face, like suns dancing in his sweet, tender gaze. I would do anything to see that smile, any day of the week. Skating in the rain was nothing, and I wish he’d see that; I wish he’d see that I’d move mountains to make him smile, if I could. I wish he’d look at me and know that I’d cross oceans to hold him, that even if he was hundreds of miles away, if he asked, I’d come to him in a heartbeat.

I smile back at him, swallowing the thickness in my throat.

“Are you crying?” he whispers.

“No,” I rub a hand over my face, “shut up.”

“You’re so sweet,” he tells me, and I shake my head, but as he moves closer, he nods into me.

He meets my eyes and pulls me into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and slow. It passes constellations of promises and an eternity of love. It says that our love is endless, that our love is ineffable, and that beyond every moment we spend apart mirrors a moment that we will spend together. When he pulls away, I look at him – my love, my world, my _Karkat_ – and see a sunset in his sweet smile; a vow to a new day together on the horizon.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> named after the song by vancouver sleep clinic  
> as always (but usually unsaid): dedicated to someone special   
> <3


End file.
